


Give Me Back My Broken Parts

by peachrosepetals



Series: I Can Breathe Again [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Coming Out, Eddie Kaspbrak Cries, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Getting Together, M/M, Richie Tozier Cries, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Therapy, lots of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachrosepetals/pseuds/peachrosepetals
Summary: “So I told her — my therapist, I mean — about that Mellon kid, you know, the one who was murdered just before we came back to Derry?” Richie asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Yeah, so I told her about Mellon, and what they did to him, and how — how — I knew that could have been me.”Eddie feels his brow furrow. He doesn’t understand.“But that guy was killed for being —”“Yeah,” Richie huffs, interrupting Eddie before he can finish that sentence, voice desperate and unsure. “Yeah, Eddie,” he repeats after a moment, letting out a deep, deep sigh.“Oh,” Eddie replies dumbly.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: I Can Breathe Again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910458
Comments: 14
Kudos: 245





	Give Me Back My Broken Parts

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Be Okay” by Ingrid Michaelson. Reddie has consumed my every waking hour… so I have come to contribute to the fandom. I’ve kind of left this open for myself to continue in this universe, but this can be read as a stand alone and is a complete oneshot. Thanks to my bestest friend [imnotinclinedtomaturity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imnotinclinedtomaturity/pseuds/imnotinclinedtomaturity) for the edit <3

“So, I’ve started seeing a therapist,” Richie blurts out, apropos of nothing.

Eddie immediately shuts up, surprised by the interruption. It’s not that he was talking about anything important — mostly bitching about his job _again_ — and it’s not as though Richie doesn’t interrupt _often_ , it’s just that of all the things Eddie was expecting Richie to say, that was not one of them.

He’s thrown off for a moment, apparently long enough to worry Richie, who abruptly starts talking again.

“You know, I figured it was about time I got one, considering all the bullshit we went through in Derry _twice_ ,” he explains in that tone he gets when he’s panicked, and he’s talking just to fill the silence. “Not that I’ve told her anything about the killer clown, because let’s face it, they’d just throw me in the looney bin for that one,” Richie jokes, startling a snort out of Eddie. That seems to give Richie back some of his confidence, as he continues, “But uhm, it’s been good. You know. For me.”

“Oh…kay,” Eddie responds, unsure of himself. “That’s great, Richie. I’m really glad to hear that,” he tries, nervously twining his fingers into the bottom of his shirt. What do you say to someone when they tell you they’ve started going to therapy? Surely Eddie’s supposed to be supportive, right? Or is he supposed to be concerned?

But Richie just laughs, the sound loud and almost forced sounding. “Dude,” he says, “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck, what, dipshit?” Eddie barks back, immediately feeling stupid. “What did you want me to say?” he deflects, “You kind of sprung that on me out of nowhere!”

“I don’t know, maybe ‘About time, asshole, you’ve been a nutcase your entire life’?” Richie suggests, like it’s obvious. Eddie bristles immediately.

“You know I’m not always an asshole, right?” Eddie snaps. “I know how to be supportive,” he grumbles, even though he fucking _doesn’t_.

“Coulda fooled me,” Richie snorts, but his tone is teasing, if not a little tense. “But seriously, thanks Eds,” Richie adds, letting out a shuddery sounding sigh.

“Course,” Eddie shoots back with a half smile, because he doesn’t know what else to _say_.

Richie’s not the first of the Loser’s to get a therapist. Bill had started seeing someone the week he returned home, and it had taken a few weeks, but Bev had quickly followed after she’d settled down with Ben in Nebraska, hundreds of miles away from her abusive husband back in New York. It seemed like it was only a matter of time for the rest of them to follow, and it wouldn’t surprise Eddie at all if Ben was already seeing someone as well.

It’s just that Eddie doesn’t know why Richie has brought it up, especially to _him_ , the least adept at talking about emotions of the bunch.

“It’s just, therapy’s hard, you know?” Richie continues, starting to gain that same awkward, unsure energy from before. “They actually make you talk about shit, can you imagine?” he snorts. “They want to know all about my childhood, and how I came to be the man I am today. All that fun shit,” he explains mockingly.

Eddie hums encouragingly. Richie inhales deeply, and continues.

“But how do you explain all that clown bullshit to a stranger?” Richie asks with a defeated sigh. Eddie can just about see him dragging his hand across his face in frustration. “How do you explain Derry to someone who’s never been there?”

“I don’t know, dude,” Eddie replies as softly as he can manage, which still seems to come out harsh. He grits his teeth, hating himself a little bit for being so useless, when Richie’s here trying to bear his heart out to him.

Richie hums. “Neither do I,” he admits.

He’s quiet for a moment. Eddie doesn’t interrupt, assuming that Richie is building up to something. He knows how Richie can get, when someone tries to push him, and he imagines if Richie brought this up, it must really be something he needs to talk about.

“So I’ve been talking with a therapist,” Richie suddenly says, heaving a large breath as he presumably starts over. “About how Derry fucked us all up, minus the collective clown trauma,” he states simply, like that isn’t the part that matters — and Eddie supposes it isn’t. He knows all about that.

“And Bev said I should — I should start with the stuff that Pennywise, you know… showed me,” Richie explains slowly, and— _oh._ That’s where this is going. Eddie can feel himself starting to tense up automatically, thinking about the way Pennywise had appeared to him as the leper, how he’d appeared to Eddie as his _mom_. He shudders automatically.

But still, Eddie doesn’t interrupt. Richie doesn’t really let him, shouldering on quickly like if he gets this out quick enough, he won’t have to deal with it anymore. Eddie can understand that.

“So I told her — my therapist, I mean — about that Mellon kid, you know, the one who was murdered just before we came back to Derry?” Richie asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Yeah, so I told her about Mellon, and what they did to him, and how — how — I knew that could have been me.” The words come out shaky and fast, until they almost start to run together. For a moment, Eddie doesn’t even understand them. All he can really focus on is the way Richie’s breathing has sped up, how he can suddenly hear it clearly over the line.

Mellon. Hadn’t Mike told them about Mellon? He’d been at the fair with his boyfriend when some Derry locals saw them holding hands and beat the shit out of him. From the way Mike told it, even if Pennywise hadn’t been there, Mellon would have died.

Eddie feels his brow furrow. He doesn’t understand.

“But that guy was killed for being —”

“Yeah,” Richie huffs, interrupting Eddie before he can finish that sentence, voice desperate and unsure. “Yeah, Eddie,” he repeats after a moment, letting out a deep, deep sigh.

“Oh,” Eddie replies dumbly.

Gay. That guy had been killed for being gay.

A shudder ripples up Eddie’s spine at the very thought of something like that happening to Richie. He sort of wants to throw up just imagining it, and he finds his own breathing has gone shaky. “Richie,” Eddie starts, voice cracking, but Richie cuts him off.

“And I told her about growing up gay in small town Derry, Maine, and how I couldn’t so much as hang out with a boy alone in the arcade without someone calling me a faggot,” Richie hurries on in a strangled voice. “ _I_ barely even understood that I was gay, but everyone else seemed to already know,” he adds, chuckling humorlessly, brokenly.

Eddie’s throat feels tight, and his fingers curl hard around the edges of his phone. He can feel his eyes burning with tears.

“Richie,” he tries again, but Richie still isn’t done.

“That shit’s haunted me for years,” Richie admits, and he sounds like he’s forcing the words out of his throat. Eddie wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to, but this is why Richie _called_ , Richie _wants_ to tell him, so who is Eddie to stop him?

“Even without Pennywise, that shit would have haunted me. Pennywise didn’t even have to call me a faggot — the rest of the town did it for him,” Richie chokes out. “All he did was mutter some bullshit about knowing my secret, and that was it. That was enough to break me.”

Eddie lifts a hand to pinch between his eyes, and does his best to hold back a sniffle. He inhales shakely, but lets Richie talk.

“So I told my therapist ‘hey, I’m gay,’ and it was the first time I’d ever said it to anyone,” Richie explains roughly, clearing his throat loudly to make up for the fact that it sounds strangled. It doesn’t really help. “Isn’t that fucked up, Eds? Forty years old, and the first time I say ‘I’m gay,’ is to someone I’m paying to talk to me.” Richie laughs humorously again. “Turns out the reason I’m so fucked up isn’t even because of some stupid ass clown. It’s that little ol’ thing known as ‘internalized homophobia.’ So take that, Pennywise. Guess you win in the end,” he says, and lets out a deep, shuddery sigh.

He’s crying. Eddie can almost hear it, in that quiet way of Richie’s. He’s sniffling just softly enough that it’s difficult for Eddie to discern, but his breathing is harsh, and every once in a while he seems to let out a little gasp. Eddie’s nails bite into the skin of his knee, where he's gripping tightly to himself.

“Rich,” Eddie tries, his own voice strangled with unshed tears. He grits his teeth, unsure what else to say, but desperate to say it anyway.

God. Knowing that Richie has been carrying this around with him for _years_ , where Eddie couldn’t even help because he hadn’t been there… it’s devastating, and so, _so_ achingly familiar that Eddie doesn’t even know where to start.

“And I know —” Richie starts up again, his voice back under control. “I know that they made fun of you at school for it too, but —” Richie stops abruptly, starts again. “But it was true, with me. When they wrote ‘Tozier sucks flamer cock,’ on the bathroom stalls, they weren’t _wrong_. I mean, I was fucking fifteen in Derry _fucking_ Maine, _of course they were wrong_ , but the principle still stands. I was gay, and the whole fucking world knew it.” Richie lets out another shuddery breath.

Eddie opens his mouth to respond, fully prepared to say _it was true for me too_ , but he can’t seem to force the words out of his mouth. He feels himself clamming up, ducks his face and lets the tears fall.

Richie clears his throat again.

“But anyway, therapy right?” Richie tries to joke, the words falling flat. “I told my therapist about all that bullshit I went through, and how it fucked me up for the rest of my life, and…” Richie trails off, sighing heavily. “And she gave me fucking homework, Eds, can you believe that?” he asks, laughing hoarsely. “Fucking _homework_.”

Eddie forces out his own little laugh in sympathy, but he’s crying, and he can’t stop crying, because he has _so much to say and he can’t fucking say it_.

Eddie thinks Richie might know that he’s upset Eddie and wants to help him, but doesn’t know how to do it, because he lets out a little moan of distress. “Fuck,” he mutters roughly.

“Fuck,” Eddie agrees quietly.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of their rough breathing, echoing each other across the line. Eddie’s got his eyes squeezed shut, and his lips pressed tight together. He knows it’s his turn to break the silence, knows that Richie is waiting for him to say something, _anything_ , to let Richie know that Eddie is there and that Eddie cares and that Eddie is okay.

So he says, “What homework?” through a rough, throat-clearing cough. Richie only hesitates for a moment.

“Well, to come out to someone I trust, for starters,” Richie hedges, clearing his throat as well.

“Check,” Eddie shoots back on a hoarse laugh, wiping at his eyes, now. “What else?”

This time, Richie hesitates for longer. Eddie can hear him swallowing thickly on the other end of the line, clearly gearing up for something. After everything that Richie has said, though, Eddie can’t imagine anything worse..

“Richie,” Eddie finally says, sighing quietly, “You just came out to me, dude. What could be harder than that?”

Richie inhales sharply, and says “I’m in love with you, Eds.”

It’s a little bit like being punched in the stomach, the way Richie’s words hit. They knock the breath out of Eddie and leave him feeling dizzy, completely shocked and unprepared as he is. It’s the absolute last thing Eddie was ever expecting to hear, and it’s not that it’s _bad_ — far fucking _from_ it — it’s just that Eddie hadn’t imagined this could ever happen in his wildest dreams.

When he’d walked into the Jade of the Orient three months ago, Eddie hadn’t known what to expect, but the moment he’d seen Richie again, something he’d been missing for years slammed right back into him — Eddie was, and had been, in love with Richie Tozier for his entire life. He’d just forgotten, at least in the forefront of his brain, because of the stupid clown — but nothing could have taken away the love Eddie felt for Richie, not really. It was something that had always been there, that Eddie had been unwilling, and then unable, to name.

Eddie had planned to take that fact to his grave, and now here Richie was telling him _that he felt the same_.

“And I know you’re married,” Richie scrambles to say, when Eddie fails to respond. “And I know you’re not — you know,” Richie stutters over the word, ploughing on in the midst of Eddie’s silence, and Eddie opens his mouth to respond because _no, no you’ve got it all wrong_ , but Richie doesn’t stop, and Eddie can’t speak, and Richie says, “but I just needed you to know.”

As soon as the words are out, Richie lets out a heavy exhale, and falls silent again. Eddie feels his shoulders fall in relief that Richie isn’t taking it back, that he isn’t hanging up the phone, that he isn’t panicking and changing the subject and acting like it’s all just some joke and that his feelings don’t matter before Eddie can respond and tell him that he feels the same.

For the first time all night, Eddie knows exactly what to say.

“I left Myra two weeks ago.”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line. Eddie is sitting up straight, back a perfect line. His breathing is shallow, and he can feel himself shaking with adrenaline. He wrings out the hand not holding his phone, and shifts to standing.

“I never loved her,” he continues, voice shaking. He begins to pace. “I knew I didn’t love her the day we got married, but I married her anyway, because it was just easier. Richie, I —” Eddie inhales sharply, shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Richie, I’m gay, too,” he breathes out in one fell swoop, and feels the weight of the world lift off his shoulders for just one moment.

For just one moment, he feels free.

And he knows it's not that easy. Internalized homophobia and all that, like Richie said. But it’s _easier_ , having said it aloud even just the once, _easier_ knowing that he isn’t alone, _easier_ knowing that if no one else will, at least Richie will accept him.

Eddie exhales a shuddery laugh, and finds the strength to open his eyes again.

“Richie,” he breathes, clinging tight to his phone, even as he knows that it’s fine, it’s _okay_ , because Richie _just said_ he feels the same way, “Richie, I’m in love with you too.”

The surprised gasp on the other end of the line makes Eddie’s insides wobble, and he laughs, watery. He stumbles back to the sofa, falls onto it, and presses a hand to his mouth, because now that he’s started, he can’t _stop_. Peals of giggles slip past his lips, and he feels like a child again. Maybe he sort of is — losing the first sixteen years of your life because of a crazy space clown can really do a lot to a person.

In some ways, Eddie never really got to be a kid. Richie brings out the kid in him, and it’s one of the things that makes Eddie fall in love with Richie every day.

“Holy shit,” Richie breathes, clearly still trying to take it all in. Eddie can understand that. His own mind is still reeling with all the information Richie has just dropped on him, and he’s certain that when he wakes up in the morning, he’ll have to pinch himself to make sure it wasn’t all just a dream, but for right now, Eddie just wants to bask in the knowledge that Richie loves him, too.

 _Richie loves him too_.

“Holy shit,” Eddie repeats on another giggle, grasping at his own stomach from how hard he’s laughing. He curls over himself, gasping into his knees, and feels the tears start to drip down his cheeks again.

“I love you,” Eddie says, because he _can_ now. “Fuck, Richie, I’ve loved you my entire life,” he adds on a sob, his breathing unsteady.

Eddie’s pretty certain Richie’s crying on the other end of the line, too.

“Holy _shit,_ ” Richie gasps again, sounding a little hysterical this time. “Holy shit, Eddie _what?_ ” he asks, and his voice is so fucking ripped apart with terror and hope in equal measure that it breaks Eddie’s heart. He wishes more than anything that he was there with Richie right now so that he could kiss him, hold him, reassure him with his entire being, but for now, he’s just going to have to settle on words.

“I love you,” Eddie replies instantly, voice as sure as he can make it through the tears. He sniffles loudly, laughs at the disgusting sound, and says “I really, really do.”

Richie makes some kind of hysterical gasping sound in reply, and it makes Eddie laugh again, his heart _soaring_. Despite the tears, Eddie can’t seem to stop smiling.

It seems to take forever for both of them to calm down. Richie had always been the more emotional of the two of them, and even though he’d always tried so hard to cry silently, to appear like a pillar of strength, once he got going, he often couldn’t stop. Eddie can hear him over the phone, the way his breathing keeps hitching, the way he gasps, and sniffles, and makes little broken sounds.

If it were any other situation, Eddie would hate the sound of it. Richie crying isn’t _rare_ , necessarily — he was kind of a cry baby when they were kids, just don’t tell _him_ that — but Richie falling to pieces _was_. This is Richie falling to pieces, and while it hurts to hear, Eddie knows that for once, Richie isn’t crying because of something completely _bad_.

Eddie manages to pull himself together first. He wipes at his face and cringes at the sticky wetness, wrinkling his nose at the snot coating his nose. He gets up immediately to grab a wash rag, and brings his phone with him. He sets it on the counter next to the sink, turns on the water, and scrubs at his face harshly until he feels clean again.

By the time he pulls his face away, Richie is laughing.

“What?” Eddie complains, already knowing what Richie’s going to say.

“Dude,” Richie cackles, voice somehow still managing to sound all nasally and stuffed up. “Did you just _wash your face_?”

“Yeah, asshole, I did!” Eddie shouts at him, even as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “Do you have any idea how much bacteria is in snot? There’s a reason you’re not supposed to fucking _eat_ it,” Eddie growls, making Richie howl with laughter. He’d been that kid in grade school who ate boogers on a fucking dare, and it had always grossed Eddie out. “Besides,” he continues huffily, “my face felt disgusting,” he mutters, and reaches for a towel to wipe himself off.

Richie’s laughter slowly fades out, until he sighs and grunts, “me too.” Eddie can hear shuffling on the other end of the line, hears the sink turn on, and smiles at the thought of Richie washing his face clean too. Eddie picks up his phone, turns, and leans himself back against the sink, one arm crossed against his chest.

Now that the crying is over, all Eddie can feel is a rush of embarrassed excitement. His skin is buzzing with giddy anticipation, and he’s nervous as _hell_ , but he knows he doesn’t really have to be. Still, that doesn’t keep him from _feeling_ it, and he’s filled with so much energy that he can’t bring himself to go back into the front room to sit down. Instead, he smiles into his phone and jiggles his leg and waits patiently for Richie to return.

“You know,” Richie says, when he finally picks up his phone again, “That actually really did make me feel better,” he admits on a contented sigh. Eddie laughs and shakes his head.

“No shit, Rich,” he jokes back. Richie chuckles, the sound warm and familiar, and something Eddie never wants to live without ever again.

They’ve spent the last three months talking nearly every day, and Eddie will never get tired of hearing Richie laugh. Eddie’s smile turns soft, and he wishes more than anything that he was there with Richie right now.

“So…” Richie awkwardly mutters after a moment of silence.

“So,” Eddie repeats, nervous. He bites his lip, and waits.

“I really wish you were here right now,” Richie lets out in a rush, vulnerable, plaintive. Eddie inhales sharply, and lets the breath out on a whispery sigh.

“Me too, Rich… Me too,” he admits softly, clinging tight to his phone. They’re 2,500 miles apart right now, and the distance has never felt so far. Eddie sighs.

“I wish I could kiss you,” Richie adds after a moment, softer this time, quieter, a little more unsure, like he doesn’t really know if he’s allowed to have this.

Eddie smiles, feeling his heart swoop, because it feels almost unbelievable to him, too. “Me too,” he whispers back, and he feels all of sixteen again — sixteen in a world where being gay hadn’t been so taboo that Eddie had repressed it ten feet under — on the phone with his best friend who he wanted so much to be _more_. When Eddie had been sixteen, he’d dreamed of a moment like this that had just never come.

And now, over two decades later, it finally has.

“When can I see you?” Richie asks abruptly, breaking through Eddie’s thoughts and sounding impossibly eager. “I could come to New York,” he offers impulsively.

Eddie opens his mouth to say yes — yes, yes a thousand times yes, but Richie interrupts before he can.

“—if that’d be cool,” Richie adds, seemingly tempering his eagerness. “I’ve got a meeting with my manager early tomorrow, and I’m supposed to workshop a show on Friday, but I could reschedule and be out there Thursday night.” He’s talking so fast that Eddie almost can’t understand him. It takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do, Eddie’s smile slips away.

Richie has a show on Friday, even if it _is_ just to workshop. It’s been three months since Derry, three months since Richie apparently “tanked his career” — his words, not Eddie’s — and he’s just started writing for himself again for the first time. Eddie can’t interrupt that just so he can hold Richie a little sooner. No, he can be patient.

Eddie sighs, shakes his head, and says “No, Richie.”

Richie exhales sharply, like Eddie’s blown the wind out from underneath his sails, but doesn’t say anything.

Pursing his lips, Eddie shoves himself off of the sink, and finally walks out of his restroom. He flicks the light off as he goes, shuts off the light in the living room, and finally collapses onto his bed in his room. He does all of this in complete silence, Richie refusing to say anything more on the other end of the line.

Concerned, Eddie plays back the conversation in his head and — _oh_. Fuck, that sounds so much worse than he’d meant it to.

“I _do_ want to see you,” Eddie rushes to add, hopefully reassuring Richie that Eddie isn’t rejecting _him_. “So badly,” he tacks on, just for good measure.

“Then why?” Richie asks. It sounds like a whine, but Eddie can hear the undercurrent of hurt that Richie’s not doing a great job of hiding.

“Because you have a show on Friday, Richie,” Eddie reminds him firmly, not even attempting to hide how much he thinks Richie is being an idiot for trying to skip out on his _own fucking show_.

Richie scoffs. “I told you, I can reschedule —”

“Richie,” Eddie says, cutting him off seriously. Richie “humphs,” but shuts up. “This is your first show since — since Derry,” he reminds him, trying for gentle, and well aware that his tone just doesn’t _go_ that way. He sounds more gruff than anything else, and he can only be thankful that Richie has always seemed to understand his intent anyway. “And it’s your first show doing your own material in years,” he adds earnestly.

“I guess…” Richie mumbles, and Eddie knows that he’s got him. He smiles wistfully.

“It’s not the end of the world if I can’t see you tomorrow,” Eddie reminds him in his best attempt to be reassuring. If it falls a bit flat, well, it’s because Eddie _wants_ to see Richie tomorrow, it’s not Eddie’s fault. “We’ve got the rest of our lives in front of us,” he adds fiercely.

Richie inhales sharply on the other end of the line. When he speaks next, his voice sounds strangled, like he’s crying again. “But I don’t want to wait any longer,” Richie admits thickly. “I’ve waited my whole _life_ for you,” he says miserably.

Eddie laughs humorlessly. “I know, Rich,” Eddie agrees quietly, “I have too,” he says, and this time, he does everything in his power to sound sincere. “But you’re finally going to do your own show on Friday, and all of the jokes are gonna be one hundred precent _you_. I can’t take that away from you,” Eddie admits seriously.

“Besides,” Eddie continues, “I have to work anyway. I don’t want the first time we see each other again to be some — some rushed thing where we throw our whole lives upside down and can’t really _enjoy_ each other. If you show up tomorrow night, your manager won’t stop calling you, and my coworkers will probably shit themselves if I’m out with no notice for one day, and honestly Richie,” Eddie says all in a rush, stopping to inhale sharply when he runs out of breath, “When I see you again, I don’t want to be thinking about anything but _you_ ,” he says breathlessly.

“Oh,” Richie says, sounding stunned. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, and presses the phone tighter to his face. He hates that he has to be the one to shoot the idea down, but he knows that he’s right. He knows that it’ll be ten times better if they just _wait_.

“Okay?” Eddie asks, when Richie hasn’t said anything else for a long moment.

“Okay,” Richie agrees quietly, sniffling a little, but sounding less devastated than earlier. Eddie is glad to hear it. He smiles.

“Okay,” he repeats.

There’s a beat, and then, “I love you,” Richie says, hopeful.

Eddie laughs. “I love you, too,” he reassures him. “And I’m going to see you so fucking soon, okay?”

They’ve lost over twenty years with each other, but Eddie doesn’t plan to lose another second.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr at [fandomsalive!](https://fandomsalive.tumblr.com/post/628375058160713728/give-me-back-my-broken-parts)


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